Knight Avenged
by GoldSovereign
Summary: Nearly a year after the goodbye in The Forget Me Knot.


**Knight Avenged**

_A London fencing club, 1969_

It was late afternoon at one of London's most prestigious salles and the practice room was full of anonymous members dressed in full fencing whites and masks. Off to the side, standing before the bank of mirrors, a lone fencer was brandishing a foil, whipping it through the air several times, testing both the weight and flexibility. It felt good in the hand … solid yet pliant.

"Excellent," remarked the feminine voice that was as rich as the auburn hair flowing from beneath her mask.

Emma Peel had become an exceptional fencer during the past year. She had always been extremely proficient with the blade, but since she had been spending more time in serious practice, few in the club equalled her.

Fencing had become her escape. She needed the automatic way her body responded to holding a blade, the way her muscles unconsciously performed drills learned after years of disciplined training. It allowed her brain to disengage from the mundane routines of everyday life.

Very few challenges or adventures came her way anymore and she rebelled at the stagnation. Just the thought of it was irritating and she wickedly whipped the foil in her hand once again, slicing the air with an audible swish, thrilling at the feel of the potentially lethal blade.

All other thoughts were banished as her concentration became focused and her energy channelled into the foil resting in her hand. After the customary opening salute to an imaginary opponent, bending her elbow to bring the guard of the foil to eye level, she quickly assumed the on-guard position and began.

With lightening speed she performed complex combinations of footwork drills, applying tactical theories she had modified to her own style. The required tempo, distance, and speed were liberating. So far removed from the commonplace occurrences that threatened to overwhelm her.

While fencing, she was no one's wife … no one's supervisor … not the leader of one of Britain's most esteemed corporations. No one looked to her for answers here. She was isolated in a way that made her rely on herself, pushing her limits, both mentally and physically. The sensation nearly achieved the excitement she craved, tested her in unexpected ways. So much like the time she had spent with Steed.

Steed.

That errant thought froze her in mid-lunge, leaving her hanging as though in suspended animation. Her mind had betrayed her, ruining her concentration by releasing the tightly locked reason she was finding life so dull lately.

Now distracted, Emma straightened up and walked around in a careless circle, swishing the foil at her side, letting it punctuate her thoughts. Yes, she missed Steed. Had missed him since the moment she had kissed him goodbye and drove off with Peter. No doubt her ambiguous, maddening mood lately was due to the approaching anniversary of that very moment.

It was difficult to believe it had been almost a year since she had left him. A busy, eventful year. Knight Industries was flourishing with new ideas and directions. Advances in electronics were proving extremely profitable and appealing. She especially loved the time spent in the research and development section, working alongside the best technical minds she had been able to recruit. Yet the company was running so smoothly, it didn't seem to need her anymore.

Neither did her husband.

Her muscles tensed and Emma assumed the on-guard position again, starting another imaginary battle. She advanced the foil in a "seek and destroy" method that would have injured her imaginary opponent. Lunging at unsatisfied thoughts and wishes, parrying back at the same things, she tried desperately to clear her mind but to no avail.

Her marriage was over. All that was needed was the divorce decree to make it official. She inwardly scoffed. Official. She had known there was nothing left between her and her husband within a week of Peter's return from the dead.

It was nothing dramatic or bitter, they were just different. Two souls who had spent too much time apart while individually experiencing extraordinary events that left them both irrevocably changed. Peter was no longer content in the civilized world. She was no longer content to be his happily domesticated wife. She had seen too much, experienced too much freedom. It had been wonderful.

Steed had trusted her implicitly, treated her as an equal, introduced her to a world far more potent than anything she had ever known. A world full of danger that required extreme mental and physical fortitude at every moment. Yes, there were many times when they had both come close to losing their lives. But oh, those two years with him had been delicious … and impossible to duplicate.

"Damn you, Steed," Emma sighed, chastising herself for being so uncharacteristically self-absorbed in memories.

Perhaps this sentimental silliness was not only due to the anniversary but that she had also recently turned 30. Decade events tended to make one introspective. Except upon inventory of her life, the one thing she hadn't planned on was being alone.

Peter was on his way back to the Amazon to rejoin the tribe that had saved him, hoping to write a book about his experience. Steed was partnered with someone else. Rather closely, too, according to the rumours she had heard.

Lucky girl. There was nothing like the tactics Steed employed to make the atrocities experienced while in service fade away. She smiled wistfully at the thought. Tactics that always worked remarkably well.

She shook her head, trying to clear the useless recollections, then expertly performed another attack with the foil to help push them even farther away. As she recovered from the forceful lunge, she noticed in the mirrored reflection before her one of the club's instructors approaching. Emma turned to salute him, grateful for the distraction.

"Ah, Emma my dear! Excellent foot work this afternoon."

Emma removed her mask and smiled at the older man. "Thank you, Sir Geoffrey."

She held a deep affection for the boisterous, burly man before her. He had championed her entrance into the club while she was still at school then taught her most of what she knew about fencing. Being a close friend of her father, it had seemed only natural for him to take her under his wing and instil her into the male-dominated institution, giving her the opportunity to earn her current high rank in the club. A fact he was extremely proud of. She adored him for it.

As Geoffrey drew closer he lowered his voice into hushed tones. "Sorry to interrupt your practice but would it be possible for you to run an interested party through the usual paces? 'Fraid I'm the only one on duty at the moment and there are students waiting. Wouldn't want to keep this bloke waiting, though. From the looks of him, he might make a good candidate for the club."

Emma smiled, eager for the distraction. "I'd be delighted. Do you know his skill level?"

"No. Just came in off the street and asked about joining." Geoffrey winked at her. "I'll leave it to you to sort him out."

"Well, then lead on," Emma said as she gestured for him to show her the way.

As they began to walk, Sir Geoffrey leaned over to add another piece of information. "The man's a bit shy, though. Said he wants to keep his mask on while he's here. I didn't recognize him but figured he might be someone famous who needs a bit of anonymity. D'you mind?"

"Not at all," she replied and slipped her own mask back on. "Nothing like a mystery to get the blood flowing."

Sir Geoffrey released a deep laugh, the sound of which had always delighted Emma. "That's my girl!"

As they approached the solitary figure warming up on the opposite side of the room, Emma took the opportunity to study him. Slightly stooped posture … a little thick in the middle … probably spent most of his time at a desk. Solicitor? Politician? Banker? Whatever he was, it wouldn't take long to learn his level of expertise.

"Hold nothing back, Emma," Sir Geoffrey whispered while still out of hearing range. "I want to know what the chap is capable of."

Soon they were standing before the man. "Ah, here we are then!" Geoffrey remarked with a slap on his back. "A suitable partner for you to spar with."

Without warning or introduction, the masked man silently turned and saluted then went on-guard.

So that's the way it's going to be, Emma thought with a smirk, finding the brazen challenge interesting. She quickly returned the salute and matched his stance.

Sir Geoffrey stepped back and the sparring began with a standard series of advance-retreat-lunge tactics from both. The mysterious man deftly parried Emma's attacks as she did his.

He seemed momentarily surprised. There was no feminine delicacy in her technique. Little did he know she had never needed it. Whether using fencing, karate or fighting in the streets, she battled with a technical mastery that zeroed in on her enemies weakest points, striking them down with the speed of a cobra.

The momentary lapse in his concentration proved the point, allowing Emma to register a solid hit against his chest. She quickly withdrew, allowing them both to resume on-guard before the battle began again with renewed vitality.

Seeing his protégé aptly handling the newcomer, Sir Geoffrey smiled then discreetly retreated, allowing the match to continue uninterrupted.

The two continued to strike and block with enthusiasm, the air around them ringing with the sharp metallic clashes of their foils. Neither was used to such a worthy opponent nor had they enjoyed any recent match quite so much.

Emma's competitor launched a series of aggressively skilled lunges, revealing previously undetected skills that allowed a tap to land at her side just above her hip.

"Your hit is acknowledged, sir," Emma remarked, a little out of breath and somewhat annoyed.

The man nodded once and they resumed the on-guard position before they both stuck out again. The battle became unrelenting, unforgiving, with the intensity warping into something much more challenging … and intimate.

Emma became slightly unnerved with the way her opponent was now anticipating her moves. It was as though they had fenced before. It was as though ….

In spite of what Sir Geoffrey had said, the need to know the man's identity became paramount. Emma executed an advance that backed him up against the wall and with a final thrust that eluded defence, the tip of her blade came to rest at the hollow of his neck.

Her bewildered opponent looked down at the blade then at the lady holding it. He knew he had been soundly defeated and didn't move.

"Remove your mask," she sinuously commanded, still holding the foil tip lightly pinned to his jacket.

He raised a gloved hand and slowly ran a finger down the length of her blade. The sensuous gesture surprised Emma, relaxing her grip, allowing her opponent to displace the blade just enough for him to bow slightly.

"Anything for the lady," came the elegant voice she knew so well. The man straightened into a noble posture that had been deftly concealed and removed the mask, revealing the charismatic grin of John Steed. Emma was momentarily speechless at seeing his handsome features again, a response not lost on him. "Mrs. Peel, you're needed."

Emma said nothing as she straightened up then removed her mask, shaking her long auburn hair free. When she pushed it back into place in that wonderfully familiar way she had, Steed tried unsuccessfully to suppress a grin. Her dark eyes then flashed back to him and he felt as if he'd been pinned again.

"Whatever it is, the answer is 'no', Steed," she coolly replied, attempting to cover up both her surprise and irritation. The nerve of the man, showing up at the exact moment he had been foremost on her mind. Without even a 'hello' or 'it's good to see you after all this time.'

"Won't you even hear me out?" He asked with the smooth charm she had always found rather irresistible. "After all, I came all the way over here and gave you a rousing skirmish, risking both life and limb. Doesn't that count for something?"

He had always had a flair for the dramatic and even though she didn't want to, Emma found it amusing. She once again looked up at him, studied the grey eyes she knew so well. Perhaps a conventional greeting wasn't needed. They had certainly never had a conventional relationship.

"I'll give you five minutes," she sceptically replied.

Steed grinned. They were back to where they were a year ago, verbally sparring as well as they just had with their blades and he was grateful. It was why he had come to the fencing club and faked his way into seeing her again. Sparring with her had been much more satisfying than simply meeting her for a drink or dinner. He sensed she felt the same.

"Seems I'm in a spot of trouble."

"When aren't you in trouble?" Emma said with a laugh until she looked back into his eyes again and knew he was no longer joking. Her expression filled with concern. "What is it, Steed?"

"I need your advice." His charming veneer slipped as he leaned back against the wall and folded his arms across his chest. "My situation has changed," he remarked, a hint of unexpected bitterness shading his tone. "I've been placed in a position where I can no longer handle my work as efficiently as I once did."

"You?" Emma remarked, clearly mystified. "I find that difficult to believe. You are considered one of the top men in the field … by both sides."

He smiled. "Thank you, my dear. But I'm afraid the Organisation no longer sees it that way."

"Oh, blast the Organisation!" Emma never had much respect for the faceless army of bureaucrats that sat safely at desks while making the rules that governed those in Steed's profession. Steed had always seemed above them. "You always had the Minister's utmost confidence." It was well placed. While she had been associated with Steed, he had been free to complete his missions any way he saw fit and always delivered extraordinary results. "What has changed?"

"The Organisation itself … the way we do business. I do still have the Minister's confidence but they have relegated most of his power and now his hands are tied. They have also made it so I must answer for my actions while being relegated to the mentorship of a young agent. I have time for little else."

"I see," Emma remarked even though it was difficult for her to comprehend why changes had been made to something that worked so well. "Could it be because they value your experience and want it widely shared?"

"Then why not ask me to teach? Instead, they have assigned me a nanny while making me one as well." Steed sighed heavily, reigning in his frustration. "It all feels rather pointless, Emma … and hopeless."

It was only on rare occasions he used her given name. That combined with his remarks and uncharacteristic outburst made Emma realize his situation truly was dire.

"You're not thinking about resigning?" She gently asked.

"I think of little else. That's why I've come to you for advice."

"Then you shall have it," she replied without questioning him further. "But I don't know what I can offer, Steed. A year is a long time and I'm so far removed from it all."

"A year." Steed echoed wistfully. It had been a very long and trying year. He had achieved great success with her at his side. Did he dare tell her most of his problems now were because she had left? Did he dare tell her how much he had missed her? "You're not as far removed as you think. You are still on the list of those who undertake activities in the service of Her Majesty. You could easily be reactivated."

"Reactivated?" She exclaimed, angered by his assumption she could just give up everything on a moments notice and rejoin him. "Are you mad?"

"Never more sane, I assure you," he replied tightly.

"Well, that is quite a leap from simply asking for my advice, Steed. Besides, what about your current associate? Even if you are mentoring her, she seems quite capable."

"She is. But if you'll forgive my seeming disloyalty, her youth and inexperience detract from her abilities on certain cases. She is also devoted to the Organisation because she doesn't know the difference."

"What about Mother?"

"What Mother doesn't know won't hurt him," he said flatly.

"You are enlisting aid behind his back?"

"Over his head, to use the correct anatomy. The request is coming from the Minister himself." Steed looked over at her, his expression reinforcing his serious tone. "He understands what we are facing, knows we can outlast this current regime. But most importantly, he wants results, Emma. The kind you supplied me with. And he wants them immediately."

"And you both just assumed that I would be available?"

"No. We both know you are irreplaceable. Especially after a year without you."

Emma studied him for several long moments. The offer was as tempting as it was flattering. "If I did go back into service, would I be relegated to a desk in some dusty back room?"

"You will be at my side, I assure you."

"Wouldn't that be rather difficult? You working for Mother and with Miss King while moonlighting with me?"

Steed gave her a rather unsettlingly smile. "Moonlighting? What a delightful way to describe it."

"Careful, Steed," she playfully remarked. "I'm no longer a widow."

"Pity," he said with a frown.

"Besides," she replied with a pensive sigh, "this is all speculative. Knight Industries consumes most of my time. It is where my attention belongs now."

"And it is flourishing because of it, from what I've read." He was sincerely impressed and it meant a great deal to her. "But don't you still require an occasional challenge? Like you used to? Somewhat like our fencing match just now?"

Emma fell silent. The man always did have the uncanny ability to read her thoughts.

"Listen to me," he added earnestly, regaining her full attention. "I realize how ill-mannered this was, my bursting back into your life without warning and asking for so much. But I wouldn't be here if it weren't important."

"Steed …" She tried to protest before he cut her off.

"Emma, the threats are just as grave today as they have ever been. Yet I am being forced to attack them with weak attempts of muscle and might instead of mental prowess and reason. The subtlety is gone. So is my success rate." He looked away from her, out over the room but focused on nothing. "I'm losing ... miserably."

Emma knew his success rate had nothing to do with his ego. It also wasn't ego making him speak so freely about himself. It was pride in his profession, the safety of Great Britain that had always motivated Steed. His patriotism related back to what a deeply loyal man he was to his friends, colleagues, and associates. And especially to those he loved.

"Steed, I can't go back into service," Emma reluctantly said. "Not the way we were. There are too many obligations now, too many responsibilities."

"Have you forgotten that once you are in service, you are there for life?"

She quickly looked over at him. "Are you threatening to reactivate me against my will?"

He gave her one of his most charming smiles. "Would it do any good if I did?"

"Absolutely not."

"And I wouldn't dream of it. Besides, I would rather have you help me willingly."

There it was, the way his voice dropped down, making seemingly innocent invitations sound like so much more. And Emma enjoyed the tingle of excitement that ran down her spine because of it.

"Emma, I'm not asking for a full-time commitment," Steed delicately added. "You've become much too valuable for field work." She turned to look at him again and he reached out to lightly tap her forehead. "It's your brilliant mind I'm after."

"My brilliant mind?" She lightly scoffed.

"I need someone who knows the work and has the intelligence to accomplish it. Become a consulting operative for me." When she didn't answer, he continued. "We need you, Mrs. Peel." He softened. "I need you." That caught her attention. "Help me with the problems the Organisation no longer has the capacity or patience for."

She surveyed him intensely for several moments but he didn't flinch. Then she reached her decision. "Tell me more."

He smiled again. "You're interested!"

"Merely curious," she remarked, attempting to sound unfazed while savouring the growing excitement at the chance to work with him again. "Although I must admit I could use a good challenge."

Steed grinned victoriously, knowing he had possibly won her over. "You would need to be available for consultations on all sorts of problems I might encounter. The ones that no amount of gunfire or karate kicks can solve."

"And how much time would these consultations require?"

"However much …" He stopped when she eyed him suspiciously and quickly change his sentence. "Or as little as you are willing to give."

"No doubt requiring more frequent communication with you?"

"I certainly hope so," he said with a smile. "You would hold my rapt attention."

The suggestive inflection he used made Emma laugh. Being able to banter with Steed again was like a tonic that soothed her soul. She had greatly missed it. Missed him.

"I'm still not convinced Miss King won't react badly to being shadowed," Emma said. "And Mother."

"I told you … what Mother doesn't know won't hurt him. Same with Tara."

"We will be covert then?"

"Extremely. But what about Mr. Peel?" Steed added. "Will he have any objections?"

"It would be difficult for one to object from the depths of the Amazonian jungle."

"He has returned then?"

"He found civilian life mundane."

"But surely not his wife?"

She gave him a long, searching look. "Incompatibility breeds contempt."

No other words were needed. Steed understood completely and reached out for her hand, placing a kiss on it. "The sooner you are back in service, Mrs. Peel … the better."

"But I won't be Mrs. Peel for long."

"Really?" He said with mock surprise, already knowing about her pending divorce. It was one of the reasons he had decided to enlist her services once more. "Well as long as we are in service to Her Majesty, you will always be Mrs. Peel to me."

Emma gave him a sharp, contemptuous look. "Don't tell me you intend to use that as a code name?"

"I do indeed."

Emma rolled her eyes then laughed. "Really, Steed, … isn't that rather Flemingesque?"

He chose to ignore her reference to the author who had sensationalized the British Secret Service with a "double-0" number.

"'Mrs. Peel' will always know when she is needed."

"And what if you don't call me 'Mrs. Peel'?"

He smiled once again. "There are other ways of letting you know you are needed."

"Hmmm, sounds fascinating." Emma couldn't help but smile. Steed had saved her once again, this time from monotony, and in return she would do everything in her power to help protect him from the dangers he faced. "When do we start?"

"Are you busy at the moment?"

She softly laughed at his cheek. "No, not at the moment."

"Then perhaps you will join me for a glass of champagne at the club bar?"

"They only let members in the bar."

"Were my fencing skills adequate enough for you to approve my membership?"

"They were."

"Why thank you, my dear."

"But they could be better."

"Indeed?" Steed said with mock irritation.

"All you need is some dedicated practice."

"With the right partner, I hope?"

Emma paused for a moment then saluted him with her foil. "The very best."

Steed offered her his arm and Emma took it like she had so many times before. They began to walk off toward the bar.

"A fencing club," Steed remarked, looking around the room. "What a perfect place to meet and discuss matters of vital importance." He looked back down at her. "Don't you think?"

Emma grinned, finally understanding the calculated plan he had just executed. "I do indeed."

It didn't matter she had been his pawn. She would be working with him again, enjoying his repartee while solving complicated problems of national importance. Plus he was an exceptional fencing partner, she thought with a grin.

"Steed, you always think of everything."

"I try, my dear … I try."

_------ the end ------_


End file.
